Work Text:
Zixuan was sitting in his room, sulking, when he heard a knock on the door.
His head snapped up. At the same time he felt an awful throb—his eye, puffy and swollen, ached under the cold cloth he was pressing over it. Swearing lightly to himself, he looked to the door with his eyebrows pressed together. Obviously he couldn’t have anyone seeing him like this.
This whole situation was too stupid for words. He would have said that he couldn’t believe Wei Wuxian had the audacity to punch him directly in the face—but it was believable, it was too believable. What he couldn’t believe was that he hadn’t managed to get a good hit on Wei Wuxian in retaliation. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d decked him, he’d also perfectly swerved around Zixuan’s attempt to get him back. How embarrassing. That Wei Wuxian dared hit him for something that wasn’t his fault, that everyone had seen, that he had a black eye now, that he was trapped in Gusu and subjected to their minimalistic lifestyle…these were all just some of his many problems.
“No,” was all he managed to say to whomever was on the other side of that door. It was bad enough that anyone had seen the fight. Worse would be someone seeing his black eye. Wasn’t Mianmian supposed to be out there, keeping people from bothering him? She had agreed to it so quickly when he’d asked her to do it. Or had she been being sarcastic with him? It was difficult to tell with Mianmian.
Zixuan sighed, sour. She was probably with Jiang Yanli. Well, good for them. He had no issue with it. What he had issue with was the fact that there was someone knocking at his door, and he had a black eye. He hadn’t even seen it himself yet, so he had no idea how bad it was—there were no mirrors at all in this guest suite that the Lans had provided for him.
The voice that called to him through the screen was curt and annoyed.
“Zixuan,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s me.”
“Oh,” Zixuan paused. In some ways, that it was Jiang Cheng was better. In other ways, it was much worse. “Are you with anyone?”
“Obviously not,” Jiang Cheng said. “Can I come in? If someone sees me here—”
“Fine, come in,” Zixuan said. He turned around on the bed, purposefully facing away from the door and towards the wall. He was still sulking over the black eye situation. Maybe Jiang Cheng could explain to him why his brother was so hot headed and unreasonable.
There was the sound of the door sliding open and then shutting again, and footsteps as Jiang Cheng came into the room. He set something down on a table, though Zixuan couldn’t see what it was from his angle. Rather than investigate he huffed, glaring at the wall. It was so, so poorly decorated.
“How long have you been sulking in here?” Jiang Cheng asked. “You’re all everyone is talking about, you know.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Zixuan said, miserable. “Please. Tell me more how I’m the laughingstock of our generation.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a stretch,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “I wouldn’t give you that much credit.”
Zixuan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t sure what Jiang Cheng’s intention here was, exactly.
He said as such.
“If you’re just here to make me feel worse—”
“I’m not, dumbass,” Jiang Cheng said, a little quieter. The bed shifted as he sat down on it, a little awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. Under better circumstances, Zixuan would have easily told him he could sit as close as he liked. Now, he really didn’t want him to see the black eye he had.
Awkward or not, Jiang Cheng put a hand to Zixuan’s back between his shoulder blades, careful, like he was testing whether it was alright to touch him or not. And Zixuan sighed, dipping his head a little—of course, of course it was alright for him to touch him. This thing between them was new and exhilarating, and every time Jiang Cheng demonstrated that he was comfortable enough to just sit beside him and put a hand to his back, well, that was thrilling for Zixuan. Unfortunately, right now, there was the black eye to worry about.
Of course, that’s what Jiang Cheng was here for.
“Let me see it,” he said, his voice a rasp, gentle. It amazed Zixuan, how much gentleness suited him. It almost made him turn around and drop the cloth, showing Jiang Cheng the thing he hadn’t even looked at himself yet—it throbbed still, and worry panged at his chest. Please don’t be too bad, he begged it, though he still had no intention of showing it to anyone. He was the third most handsome young man of his generation. Surely a black eye would demote him a few spots. Surely it would make Jiang Cheng laugh at him. That would be worse, he thought, sitting there nervously while Jiang Cheng petted his back.
The thing that was happening—whatever it was, between him and Jiang Cheng—was so new and fragile that Zixuan feared he would ruin it just by breathing incorrectly. As it were, he didn’t want to ruin it—he liked what they had, for now, whatever it was. Their fumbling first kiss, a much softer second one, a third and a fourth and countless others, all secret, all kept in tucked away places where no one else could see. Zixuan had ached for it for nearly as long as he’d known Jiang Cheng. And Jiang Cheng—
Well, it was clear enough to Zixuan why Jiang Cheng was attracted to him. He was handsome and rich, desirable in nearly every way. Why he liked him—or if he even truly did—that was what continued to elude him.
“I’m fine,” Zixuan said, hoping that he could tell how awfully inconvenienced he felt by the whole altercation. “If that’s all you wanted to know.”
Jiang Cheng scowled. Zixuan rolled his eyes, wincing as he did so. God, he could feel his skin swelling—he turned away a little bit. If Jiang Cheng only liked him because he was attractive, then he really didn’t want him seeing him like this.
“You provoked him, you know,” Jiang Cheng said. “You know how he is.”
Zixuan looked at him. “He punched me,” he said. “In the eye.”
Jiang Cheng huffed, conflict in his eyes.
“Well,” he said. “He’s stupid.”
Zixuan thought it better to remain quiet than openly agree with him. He did, but that was beside the point.
“Hey” Jiang Cheng said again, going back to gentle. “Let me see it.”
Zixuan hesitated, but the truth of it was that he was so hopelessly gone for Jiang Cheng that he couldn’t possibly resist him when he was being so soft with him like this, when his voice was quiet and tinged with worry, when the hand on his back was so soothing and nice. He sighed and relented, slowly removing the silk cloth from his face.
“There,” he said. “Laugh.”
Jiang Cheng did. He did in fact laugh, which wasn’t very helpful. Zixuan scowled more as he sniggered, tipping his head this way and that to get a better look at the damage done to Zixuan’s beautiful face.
“Wow, he really got you,” Jiang Cheng said.
“I’m aware,” Zixuan snapped.
“Did you know that you can duck? You can avoid being punched in the face if you just duck?”
“It happened very fast,” Zixuan said. He was getting irritated now. “Are you really just here to make me feel worse?”
“Can I touch it?”
“No,” Zixuan grumbled.
“Zixuan,” Jiang Cheng said.
He was weak to the way Jiang Cheng said his name. Jiang Cheng knew this and he was definitely using it against him, but just because Zixuan knew that didn’t mean he was powerful enough to resist. He closed his eyes for a second, basking under his gentle attention, playing it over again in his head. Zixuan. Zixuan. He loved the way he said it. He loved how his voice sounded. He loved…
He swallowed, and let him come closer.
With his permission, Jiang Cheng carefully touched two fingers to the swelling under his eye, looking at him thoughtfully.
“It’s not that bad,” he said.
“How long do you think it’ll be there?” Zixuan asked, hoping Jiang Cheng would have some kind of good news for him.
Jiang Cheng did not.
“A week, maybe,” he said.
Just like that, Zixuan felt like he had been punched again. He wheezed slightly and pulled away from Jiang Cheng’s touch, despairing all over again. He sat head of the bed with his knees pulled to his chest, his arms a defensive circle around his knees. A week. A week. He couldn’t go around looking like this for a week. Jiang Cheng scooted on the bed until he was next to him again, insisting on ogling this thing on his face.
“I said it really wasn’t that bad,” Jiang Cheng said. “I’m not fucking lying to you.”
“A week,” Zixuan wheezed. It was all he could think about.
Jiang Cheng sat there for a moment, twisting his lip between his teeth. He really had only come to help, but he was out of his depth—Zixuan was prideful and he was stubborn, he valued his appearance and hated being talked down to—but then Jiang Cheng must have remembered something, because his face lit up for a second.
“I…I brought something to help,” Jiang Cheng said, though he sounded a bit awkward about it. “I mean, Wei Wuxian and I get into fights all the time. He’s got an annoyingly good arm. So…I know what it’s like. I guess. And I knew you’d get like this, so—no, that came out wrong, I was just trying to say that—”
His fumbling was cute, but Zixuan thought he would spare him the rest. He touched a hand to his, winding his fingers through his, no longer leaning away but leaning close. It was nice that Jiang Cheng had come to see him. It gave him hope that their relationship was a little more, that it wasn’t just the physicality of it all, that Jiang Cheng might actually…like him.
“What did you bring?” Zixuan asked, easing the conversation along. “Ointment, or something?”
Jiang Cheng blinked. It seemed that this had not occurred to him.
“Oh,” he said. “No. Shit. I just brought alcohol.”
“Oh,” Zixuan said. “Well, that’s even better.”
Jiang Cheng visibly relaxed. “Thank god,” he said, and stood up off the bed. He retrieved a jar from the only table in the room—so that was what he’d brought in—and came back, opening it up. “I took it from Wei Wuxian,” he explained, handing it to Zixuan.
“Even better,” Zixuan said, the taste of the wine that much sweeter knowing that somewhere, Wei Wuxian was missing it. Jiang Cheng sat beside him once more, and they passed the jar back and forth until it was empty, until Jiang Cheng was flushed in the face, until they were sitting with their legs tangled together, until Jiang Cheng was on top of him and pushing a hand through his hair. Zixuan had long since forgone hiding his black eye with the silk cloth; it was discarded on the floor, along with a few other items of clothing. The taste of wine was sweet on Jiang Cheng’s mouth—they kissed, slowly and lazily, Zixuan enjoying the weight of him. It felt good. He tasted good. He was good.
“I’m starting to feel better,” he told him, enjoying how the wine was making him feel. Jiang Cheng laughed softly, kissing at the spot on his neck just beneath his jaw, right where his pulse thumped the loudest. His hips were starting to shift back and forth, getting greedy.
“Starting?” Jiang Cheng pressed. It seemed he had come not only to take a look at his black eye, but for something else, too. Zixuan wanted only to encourage him and pushed a thigh up between his legs, giving Jiang Cheng something to grind against.
“You’re so good,” Zixuan murmured, watching the way his ass moved as his hips rolled this way and that.
“You’re stupid,” Jiang Cheng said, kissing him. He pretended like he wasn’t affected by the praise, but Zixuan could tell otherwise.
“Only for you,” Zixuan told him, the throbbing of his eye a distant, forgotten feeling. “Only for you.”